


No Touching

by LapisLazooti



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell, Drunkenness, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, I Swear This Isn't As Bad As The Tags Make It Sound, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-17 04:47:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8131019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LapisLazooti/pseuds/LapisLazooti
Summary: "Why do you think I don't like being touched?" He hissed through his teeth. This was embarrassing. Sans and Frisk learn a thing or two about each other - and those things aren't necessarily happy.





	1. Chapter 1

Sans swears he hears footsteps that are neither his or the human's. He know's he's just imagining things. If someone wanted to capture them, they would've pounced by now. He's already on edge as it is, but the thought of being followed fills him with a paranoia that is borderline unbearable. The thought of being followed by Papyrus was particularly troubling. He doesn't realizes he's shaking until his hand is grabbed. 

 

His body stiffens and he instinctively smacks the smaller hand away from his own. He flinches at the disappointed and confused expression of the small human, but turns away quickly, shoving his hands in his pockets of his coat to avoid the same thing happening again. "I already told you, kid, no touching. No exceptions." He growls.

 

The human takes a few stumbling steps away from him and they stare at the ground in silence for a few minutes. For a brief second, Sans is afraid he may have hurt them when he slapped their hand away. "You're shaking." Frisk finally speaks, voice weak from not having used it much. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

 

"Nothing." He grumbles out. Nothing that he's willing to share right now, that is. Nothing that he ever wants to share with anyone. Ever. Doing such a thing would humiliate him in ways worse than torture. Well. Depending on what kind of torture you were talking about. He'd talk about anything if he could chose between that and some of the shit he'd been put through. He shudders.

 

A hand touches the back of his arm and he whips around to grab the offender's wrist in a bruising grip, pulling them forward with a violent jolt. "What did I just fucking say? No touching you little shit! Do that one more time and I'll-" He turns his head to give them a warning glare, but stops dead in his tracks when he sees the crippling fear in their eyes. They didn't look this scared when they first met, and that was saying something. He suddenly felt like the scum of the underground. "...Kid..."

 

Tears well in their eyes as they try to break free of his grasp in panic. When he lets go, they fall back onto their backside, sobbing. They hold their arm close to their body defensively.

 

"H-Hey... I'm not that scary, am I?" He tries his best to soften his voice, giving an awkward chuckle while he's at it. Based on their reaction with the context of all the other horrid things they'd been through in the past few days, he made a not so wild guess that he triggered something that he shouldn't have. They hadn't have such a... severe reaction to anything else, even the truly gruesome looking monsters that attacked them every so often. He takes a few cautious steps in their direction, hesitantly holding his hand out. "Uh... You need help up?" He isn't sure they hear him over their own blubbering, as there isn't a response. He isn't sure how to handle this.

 

He rubs at his eye sockets and plops himself down in front of them. "Kid..." he sighs. "You gotta calm your shit. I'll listen if you feel like talkin' about it." He knows they can hear him now; he gets a quick shake of their head in response. "Can you at least tell me why you're cryin'? Did I hurt you? Or did I make you remember something you're trying to forget...? If you can tell me, I can keep it from happening again." He's about to give up after quite a few seconds of the human before him being unresponsive. 

 

They finally speak - in a tone so quiet and... pained, that he can barely make out words. But he manages. "I-I... Don't like being grabbed like t-that. And I don't like when you yell at me... like that."

 

It takes him a second for the aggressiveness of his words to sink in. 'What did I just fucking say? No touching you little shit! Do that one more time and I'll-'. He practically feels his soul sink to where his stomach would be if he had one. The longer he concentrates on those words the more he thinks that the same thing has been said to him before. He flinches. God, he's just as bad as Papyrus. Worse.

 

What if he becomes like his brother? What if he already is like him? He physically cringes at the thought of causing as much damage as boss had. "I'm sorry." Frisk is obviously taken a back by this. Sans wasn't one for apologizing. A fly on the wall in the two brother's household would suggest otherwise, but Papyrus was the exception the the apology rule. With as much pain as his brother has caused him, he supposes he deserved to apologize for getting in his way constantly. And he did - a lot. Apologize and get in his way. "I get it. I do."

 

When the child gives him a skeptical glare at that statement, he sighs and slips his coat off of his shoulders, letting it fall onto the damp ground below him. He rolls the sleeve of his sweater up to his elbow and holds this arm out for them to see. They lean forward to examine it, brows furrowed. They clamp their hand over their mouth and stare wide eyed when they see notice thin fractures resembling spider webs across his forearm. "Why do you think I don't like being touched?" He hissed through his teeth. This was embarrassing. 

 

They make brief eye contact with him, then looked back at his arm. "Did you... do this to yourself...?"

 

Okay, that was fucked up. That was the kid's initial thought? He would've thought a child wouldn't have known that it was even a thing people did. Hell, he didn't know until he had the urges himself. Then the realization hit him that maybe this kid was having a harder time than they let on. Who falls down a hole in the top of a mountain on accident, anyway? "Not tho-" He grits his teeth. "Nah. Papyrus." They give him a quizzical look and he remembers they may not have heard his name. No one calls him that, not even Sans if they were in public. "You probably heard me call him 'Boss'." 

 

The human's mouth forms a small 'o' shape. He's relieved they don't ask him anymore questions about how it happened - or how often it's been happening. He doesn't want to answer either of those. They scoot closer to him, lifting their sleeve and holding their arm next to his. Along with the redness around their wrist that he caused, faint yellow and pastel green blotches smeared across their extended forearm. He assumed they were bruises, and if that assumption was right he guessed from there that they'd been hit pretty damn hard by something bigger than them. An adult, maybe. "Doll..." He whispers, and actually feels tears prick at his eye sockets. He can't bring himself to care about his dignity in the moment. 

 

"Are you okay with h-hugs?" They ask softly, holding their arms out. He nods. Hell, it's not like any memories of hugging were linked to Papyrus, good or bad. Nearly as soon as his consent is given, the child leaps into his lap and wraps their arms around his neck, holding on like they'll both disappear if their grip lessens. They bury their face in the shoulder of his turtleneck and the way their body jolts with sudden breaths tells him they're crying again. He cries too, and holds them tightly. But not too tightly - he makes sure of that. They suddenly feel small and fragile in his lap, which is really something coming from a barely four foot tall monster with 1HP. 

 

"I won't touch you without asking from now on." He hears them whimper a small apology.

 

"I won't either, sugar."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write a little thing about how Sans got those cracks on his arm.
> 
> This chapter contains graphic abuse - tread carefully!

A shrill screech leaves him when two sharp fingers were jammed into his soul without warning. Oh god it hurt. It hurt. With only 1HP, it was a miracle that didn't kill him. "P-P-Pa..... Boss...!" In the position he was in, he'd like to keep from provoking him further. He stiffens when his brother's hand wraps around his spine. He knows that he could break him right then and there, just dust him without any trouble. But... He wouldn't do that. He hurt him, but he'd never go as far as killing him. "Boss." He croaks out again and the grip on his spine tightens.

"Shut the fuck up." He hisses through jagged teeth. Sans smells the faint scent of whiskey on his breath and cringes. It must've been a bad day. Bad days weren't a good thing for him, especially not bad days that ended in alcohol. Those days usually resulted in a broken rib or finger if he was lucky. He said goodbye to the use of his magic for the rest of the week. He needed a lot of rest after healing himself from things like that; so much that he could barely summon a simple bone attack afterwards. And Papyrus wondered why he slept all the goddamn time. 

"Stop stop stop...!" He screams again when the fingers in his soul curl downwards, the fingertips pushing a small hole into the gelatin-like heart. The only thing keeping him from doubling over was the hand wrapped around his vertebrae. He sees a red liquid dripping down his face and assumes that he's crying. Or Papyrus is crying, and leaning so far over him is causing the tears to drop onto Sans' cheeks. He thinks the former is more likely, and the humiliation starts sinking in. He sighs with uncensored relief when the foreign feeling in his soul leaves, only a phantom echo of the pain is left.

But the relief is short lived. This time Papyrus' entire hand grasps his soul, giving it a light squeeze. He chuckles when Sans lets out another cry. He knew Papyrus would never go so far as to kill him when he was sober. But... He was drunk off his ass right now. There was no telling what he would or wouldn't do. 

Oh, god, Papyrus was going to kill him. He was going to get dusted, right here, right now, by his own brother. He'd be lying if he denied having nightmares about this. Hell, it went beyond nightmares. Anytime he was struck, the thought popped into his head. What if Papyrus gets so angry he murders me.

Apparently satisfied with his brother's response, he squeezes the red soul again. Sans whimpers and pleads for him to stop but he never lets go. He waits for the pain to stop. It just keeps getting worse, as the pressure keeps increasing. Papyrus keeps tightening his grip, and Sans thinks he might burst. His soul might explode any second---Fuck---This is how he dies. This is where his life ends. He wails. He didn't know how he was surviving this.

White specks resembling flour fall in small numbers when he's shoved further against the wall by his spine. Was that... Dust...? It was dust. He was literally falling apart. In a last attempt to save himself, he bangs his fists against the wall so hard the drywall caves in on itself where the impact hit. "Papyrus!" His voice is so loud and that he feels his jaw vibrate as the scream passes through. His arm is grabbed by the hand that was previously wrapped around his spine. He hears an unsettling crunch. "Papyrus! Stop!" He lets himself cry. The pressure on his soul releases and the hand on his arm is gone - did Papyrus actually... Listen? He hears a loud thump behind him. He jumps and cautiously turns his head to look. Oh. Papyrus hadn't listened. He passed out.

He slid down to the floor and examined the damage. Slowly, he lifts his shirt and tries his best to look at his soul, even if it is a little too high up to get a proper glance. it's indented in two places. It's deep enough for him to see that, at least. But it's not cracked, so he should be fine. He investigates the source of the god-awful crunch, next. He holds his arm in front of himself and shivers. Cracked. It's nothing too deep, but it covers a good deal of the surface and looks worse than it really is. He lifts himself off of the floor and stumbles into his room. He reaches to lock the door - but decides against it. The last thing he wanted was to get in trouble for 'hiding things'. The hole in the wall would be problematic enough.

He didn't even bother to change before he pathetically crawled underneath the covers of his bed. He prayed that he could get a good nights sleep for once, but insomnia or the dull pain would probably cut that short. He could only hope Boss would stay passed out for the whole night.

Three hours later, he was woken by screaming and swearing about the hole in the wall. 

His luck always ran dry, didn't it?

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative summary; Damn Matt, back at it again with your angsty hurt/comfort one-shots.
> 
> This may or may not be complete and utter horse shit - I'm honestly too tired to know or care, for that matter. But I had this stuck in my head today and had to write it out.


End file.
